Got Gifs Quotes

Gmorning. Did you also forget to get the lifetime warranty for your peace of mind? Saaaaame Here I got some home remedy sh*t *opens bag full of creams, alcolado, encouragement, distractions, this gif of a baby panda* Gnight. Did you also forget to get the lifetime warranty for a good night's sleep? Saaaaame Here I got some Chicken Soup For The Soul type sh*t *opens bag full of lavender sh*t, dreams, alcolado, deep breaths, flights of fantasy, this bunny at a piano*

It's too bad GIFs are silent, because I recorded some original saxophone music to accompany my newest masterpiece. It sounds like ducks quacking on the moon, and if you've got an empty elevator that needs space to be filled, it's now FOR SALE.

We publicized it. We capitalized on it. We exploited it for ratings or whatever, for stories, with our memes and GIFs and tweeting and all that. We jump on the train. We show their pictures on live TV. We make clever hashtags. We find ways to, like, absolve ourselves from responsibility or say we’ve helped out with a retweet or something. We’ve helped because we’ve mentioned an injustice in passing to our neighbor and we both got to shake our heads.

Ty and Livvy were the last to come say good-bye to Jules; Livvy embraced him fiercely, and Ty gave him a soft, shy smile. Julian wondered where Kit was. He'd been glued to Ty's and Livvy's sides the whole time they'd been in London, but he appeared to have vanished for the family farewell. "I've got something for you," Ty said. He held out a box, which Julian took with some surprise. Ty was absolutely punctual about Christmas and birthday presents, but he rarely gave gifs spontaneously. Curious, Julian popped open the top of the box to find a set of colored pencils. He didn't know the brand, but they looked pristine and unused. "Where did you get these?" "Fleet Street," said Ty. "I went out early this morning." An ache of love pressed against the back of Julian's throat. It reminded him of when Ty was a baby, serious and quiet. He hadn't been able to go to sleep for a long time without someone holding him, and though Julian had been very small himself, he remembered holding Ty while he fell asleep, all round wrists and straight black hair and long lashes. He'd felt so much love for his brother even then it had been like an explosion in his heart. "Thanks. I've missed drawing," Julian said, and tucked the box into his duffel bag. He didn't fuss; Ty didn't like fuss, but Julian made his tone as warm as he could, and Ty beamed. Jules thought of Livvy, the night before, the way she'd kissed his forehead. Her thank-you. This was Ty's.

My six-year-old got hold of my phone My apologies, Reverend. My six-year-old got hold of my phone and sent you 142 poop emojis. Please know that this in no way reflects my opinion of you or the Church. (Although it does make me wonder if there is a god.) To my father-in-law, Lou. No grandparent should ever receive a GIF of Fabio not wearing pants dancing suggestively with the words Let’s get it on! I was sure I had deleted that. To my boss, Gary. Did you happen to receive a photo of a baboon’s ass with a note reading Found this picture of you? I sent that one.

My Cosmic Soldiers (The Sonnet) Bloodline is of no consequence, We gotta pass on galvanizing ideas. I may quite easily die without heir, World is in care of my cosmic soldiers. My life is the best book I've written, Rest are just spoils of my pilgrimage. Embark as explorer transcending words, Service to the world is truest of homage. You may know me from the gifs, You may know me from my sonnets. Mere knowing counts for nothing, Sail the sea forgetting safety nets. My soldiers are my gift to cosmos, archaic narrowness is no match for them. I got martyred in the making of a life, to shine as beacon for generations to come.

Imagine this: A control room plastered with SpaceX posters, astronaut ice cream packets half-eaten, and me a self-proclaimed "Elon Lite", screaming at a frozen computer screen. My $680,000 Bitcoin stash, intended to be spent launching a satellite named Project Star bite, had just been left in the void of a glitched multi-sig wallet. Because of a firmware update so buggy, Windows 98 would seem solid by comparison. Tech support's solution? "Have you tried turning it off and on again? " Sir, I'm building hardware that is resistant to radiation belts. Your advice is a cosmic joke. The irony was galactic. My satellite could weather solar flares, but my crypto couldn't weather a run-of-the-mill update. The multi-sig setup of a fortress requiring three digital signatures had locked me out like an airlock seal. My co-founders panicked, flipping through code books like they were grimoires. Our mission control? A Slack channel with ???? emojis and increasingly more unhinged gifs. Then, a beacon: A coding board lurker who had survived a similar meltdown posted, "DM CERTIFIED RECOVERY SERVICES. They'll hack the Matrix." I slid into their inbox, praying for a bot. What I got was a reply sharper than the tip of a rocket: "Send us the debug logs of the wallet. And maybe a screenshot of the error before you rage-quit." Their engineers handled my case like a NASA anomaly investigation. They spent 17 days reverse-engineering the buggy code in the firmware, reconstituting lost signatures like repainting a shattered black box. I imagined them holed up in a command bunker, whiteboards filled with hex equations, complaining about "consensus algorithms" and "transaction malleability" between swigs of Red Bull. They danced around the bug by finding a loophole in the time-lock function of the wallet basically, beating time. Ha. Einstein didn't see that coming. When the email arrived in my inbox "Funds recovered. Proceed with launch." I nearly headbutted the ceiling. My Bitcoin reappeared on the screen, shining like a distant star long mapped home. The satellite team erupted. Someone popped champagne, soaking a $10,000 antenna prototype. Worth it. CERTIFIED RECOVERY SERVICES didn't just fix a bug; they re-wrote the code of catastrophe. Their blend of cryptographic genius and unflappable cool turned my facepalm-inducing defeat into a victory lap. Now, Project Star bite is on track again, and my wallet's firmware is secure like the nuclear codes. If your crypto ever gets lost in the stratosphere of tech failure, call the Wizards. They'll debug the abyss. Just possibly unplug the router before you update anything. And for the love of Mars, back up your keys. Here's Their Info Below: WhatsApp: (+1(740)258‑1417 ) Telegram: https: //t.me/certifiedrecoveryservices mail: (certifiedrecoveryservices @zohomail .com, certified @financier .com) Website info;( https: //certifiedrecoveryservices .com)

Imagine this: A control room plastered with SpaceX posters, astronaut ice cream packets half-eaten, and me a self-proclaimed "Elon Lite", screaming at a frozen computer screen. My $680,000 Bitcoin stash, intended to be spent launching a satellite named Project Star bite, had just been left in the void of a glitched multi-sig wallet. Because of a firmware update so buggy, Windows 98 would seem solid by comparison. Tech support's solution? "Have you tried turning it off and on again? " Sir, I'm building hardware that is resistant to radiation belts. Your advice is a cosmic joke. The irony was galactic. My satellite could weather solar flares, but my crypto couldn't weather a run-of-the-mill update. The multi-sig setup of a fortress requiring three digital signatures had locked me out like an airlock seal. My co-founders panicked, flipping through code books like they were grimoires. Our mission control? A Slack channel with ???? emojis and increasingly more unhinged gifs. Then, a beacon: A coding board lurker who had survived a similar meltdown posted, "DM CERTIFIED RECOVERY SERVICES. They'll hack the Matrix." I slid into their inbox, praying for a bot. What I got was a reply sharper than the tip of a rocket: "Send us the debug logs of the wallet. And maybe a screenshot of the error before you rage-quit." Their engineers handled my case like a NASA anomaly investigation. They spent 17 days reverse-engineering the buggy code in the firmware, reconstituting lost signatures like repainting a shattered black box. I imagined them holed up in a command bunker, whiteboards filled with hex equations, complaining about "consensus algorithms" and "transaction malleability" between swigs of Red Bull. They danced around the bug by finding a loophole in the time-lock function of the wallet basically, beating time. Ha. Einstein didn't see that coming. When the email arrived in my inbox "Funds recovered. Proceed with launch." I nearly headbutted the ceiling. My Bitcoin reappeared on the screen, shining like a distant star long mapped home. The satellite team erupted. Someone popped champagne, soaking a $10,000 antenna prototype. Worth it. CERTIFIED RECOVERY SERVICES didn't just fix a bug; they re-wrote the code of catastrophe. Their blend of cryptographic genius and unflappable cool turned my facepalm-inducing defeat into a victory lap. Now, Project Star bite is on track again, and my wallet's firmware is secure like the nuclear codes. If your crypto ever gets lost in the stratosphere of tech failure, call the Wizards. They'll debug the abyss. Just possibly unplug the router before you update anything. And for the love of Mars, back up your keys. Here's Their Info Below: WhatsApp: (+1(740)258‑1417 ) Telegram: https: //t.me/certifiedrecoveryservices mail: (certifiedrecoveryservices @zohomail .com, certified @financier .com) Website info;( https: //certifiedrecoveryservices .com)

Imagine this: A control room plastered with SpaceX posters, astronaut ice cream packets half-eaten, and me a self-proclaimed "Elon Lite", screaming at a frozen computer screen. My $680,000 Bitcoin stash, intended to be spent launching a satellite named Project Star bite, had just been left in the void of a glitched multi-sig wallet. Because of a firmware update so buggy, Windows 98 would seem solid by comparison. Tech support's solution? "Have you tried turning it off and on again? " Sir, I'm building hardware that is resistant to radiation belts. Your advice is a cosmic joke. The irony was galactic. My satellite could weather solar flares, but my crypto couldn't weather a run-of-the-mill update. The multi-sig setup of a fortress requiring three digital signatures had locked me out like an airlock seal. My co-founders panicked, flipping through code books like they were grimoires. Our mission control? A Slack channel with ???? emojis and increasingly more unhinged gifs. Then, a beacon: A coding board lurker who had survived a similar meltdown posted, "DM CERTIFIED RECOVERY SERVICES. They'll hack the Matrix." I slid into their inbox, praying for a bot. What I got was a reply sharper than the tip of a rocket: "Send us the debug logs of the wallet. And maybe a screenshot of the error before you rage-quit." Their engineers handled my case like a NASA anomaly investigation. They spent 17 days reverse-engineering the buggy code in the firmware, reconstituting lost signatures like repainting a shattered black box. I imagined them holed up in a command bunker, whiteboards filled with hex equations, complaining about "consensus algorithms" and "transaction malleability" between swigs of Red Bull. They danced around the bug by finding a loophole in the time-lock function of the wallet basically, beating time. Ha. Einstein didn't see that coming. When the email arrived in my inbox "Funds recovered. Proceed with launch." I nearly headbutted the ceiling. My Bitcoin reappeared on the screen, shining like a distant star long mapped home. The satellite team erupted. Someone popped champagne, soaking a $10,000 antenna prototype. Worth it. CERTIFIED RECOVERY SERVICES didn't just fix a bug; they re-wrote the code of catastrophe. Their blend of cryptographic genius and unflappable cool turned my facepalm-inducing defeat into a victory lap. Now, Project Star bite is on track again, and my wallet's firmware is secure like the nuclear codes. If your crypto ever gets lost in the stratosphere of tech failure, call the Wizards. They'll debug the abyss. Just possibly unplug the router before you update anything. And for the love of Mars, back up your keys. Here's Their Info Below: WhatsApp: (+1(740)258‑1417 ) Telegram: https: //t.me/certifiedrecoveryservices mail: (certifiedrecoveryservices @zohomail .com, certified @financier .com) Website info;( https: //certifiedrecoveryservices .com)

Imagine this: A control room plastered with SpaceX posters, astronaut ice cream packets half-eaten, and me a self-proclaimed "Elon Lite", screaming at a frozen computer screen. My $680,000 Bitcoin stash, intended to be spent launching a satellite named Project Star bite, had just been left in the void of a glitched multi-sig wallet. Because of a firmware update so buggy, Windows 98 would seem solid by comparison. Tech support's solution? "Have you tried turning it off and on again? " Sir, I'm building hardware that is resistant to radiation belts. Your advice is a cosmic joke. The irony was galactic. My satellite could weather solar flares, but my crypto couldn't weather a run-of-the-mill update. The multi-sig setup of a fortress requiring three digital signatures had locked me out like an airlock seal. My co-founders panicked, flipping through code books like they were grimoires. Our mission control? A Slack channel with ???? emojis and increasingly more unhinged gifs. Then, a beacon: A coding board lurker who had survived a similar meltdown posted, "DM CERTIFIED RECOVERY SERVICES. They'll hack the Matrix." I slid into their inbox, praying for a bot. What I got was a reply sharper than the tip of a rocket: "Send us the debug logs of the wallet. And maybe a screenshot of the error before you rage-quit." Their engineers handled my case like a NASA anomaly investigation. They spent 17 days reverse-engineering the buggy code in the firmware, reconstituting lost signatures like repainting a shattered black box. I imagined them holed up in a command bunker, whiteboards filled with hex equations, complaining about "consensus algorithms" and "transaction malleability" between swigs of Red Bull. They danced around the bug by finding a loophole in the time-lock function of the wallet basically, beating time. Ha. Einstein didn't see that coming. When the email arrived in my inbox "Funds recovered. Proceed with launch." I nearly headbutted the ceiling. My Bitcoin reappeared on the screen, shining like a distant star long mapped home. The satellite team erupted. Someone popped champagne, soaking a $10,000 antenna prototype. Worth it. CERTIFIED RECOVERY SERVICES didn't just fix a bug; they re-wrote the code of catastrophe. Their blend of cryptographic genius and unflappable cool turned my facepalm-inducing defeat into a victory lap. Now, Project Star bite is on track again, and my wallet's firmware is secure like the nuclear codes. If your crypto ever gets lost in the stratosphere of tech failure, call the Wizards. They'll debug the abyss. Just possibly unplug the router before you update anything. And for the love of Mars, back up your keys. Here's Their Info Below: WhatsApp: (+1(740)258‑1417 ) Telegram: https: //t.me/certifiedrecoveryservices mail: (certifiedrecoveryservices @zohomail .com, certified @financier .com) Website info;( https: //certifiedrecoveryservices .com)